It Is What It Is (And What It Is Is Shit)
by DivergentLunarShadowhunter
Summary: This is kind of a sequel to my other story Secrets in the Dark; but you can still read this if you haven't read that. If you'd like to read that first then go ahead If you didn't read it, the mention of the photograph in this story was from SitD, where John saved it from the AGRA drive onto his computer (but after that he didn't look at anything else). That's just my headcanon ig.


**It Is What It Is (TFF) Chapter 1**

 **Yes, yes. I know. I wasn't going to write any more. But I had to do it. Season Four of Sherlock is over.**

 **So this is a little rhyming recap because I can't study for midterms rn without my head exploding:**

 **Mary is dead**

 **Sherlock left Adler's texts on 'read'**

 **Moriarty still has a part**

 **Mycroft actually has a heart**

 **Sherrinford is a place**

 **The East Wind has a face**

 **Mrs. Hudson is badass**

 **Euros removed the glass**

 **A killer hid in plain sight**

 **Redbeard was a rewrite**

 **Molly heard "I love you"**

 **Who knows if it was true?**

 **Moftiss played a dangerous game**

 **And, of course, Sherlock remembered Greg's name.**

 **There wasn't actually a girl on the plane**

 **AND THE WORLD STILL WONDERS WHY THE SHERLOCK FANDOM IS INSANE.**

* * *

 **So I'm back again. I know this isn't good at all but what the heck. I may or may not add to it if I think of another event or rhyming pair that would fit.**

 **Anyways, that wasn't the actual story anyways hehe. The actual reason I came back to this is to talk about John and Mary, just like the rest of this story. It takes place in the days following Mary's death, which is touched upon in both TST and TLD but not ever really specified. So I'm piecing together what was said in those episodes (with the help of Ariane DeVere's transcript again, thank you so much for writing them!), and filling in the gaps. If John's reaction to Mary's death wasn't sad enough, here's some more angst for you. Enjoy.**

 **Time Forever Frozen (keeping with the title theme here but also it just gave me the idea to base this around Photograph by Ed Sheeran)**

 ** ****Disclaimer: All lyrics obviously belong to the amazing Ed Sheeran and I own nothing except my own writing.****  
**

John was sitting in the living room, drinking some horrid alcoholic beverage from a glass and staring at the blank television. He hadn't wanted to turn it on, fearing he'd wake Rosie, so he just sat there in his chair.

Not thinking. Just sitting.

Not thinking about the time that was not even a year ago, the time when he'd been sitting in the exact same chair, with a similarly disgusting drink in his hand, staring at the television. That time it had been daytime, and his dead best friend had been wishing him a happy birthday and simultaneously telling him his friends all hated him. That time he had no idea his friend wasn't actually dead.

He was also not thinking about a time, very similar to this, but with a more comfortable chair and a bottle of perfume. _Her_ perfume. The time he realized his wife was nothing like he'd thought she was.

And _definitely_ not thinking about the fact that this time, he was sitting here with no best friend or wife. And that he was sitting there and staring at the television in the dark because of both of them.

His only company now was the radio on the table next to him, turned to a volume so low he could barely hear it. He hadn't changed the station from where it had been when he'd turned it on, and it had been playing a mix of old and new songs he'd mostly ignored.

He didn't really know why he'd turned it on- maybe because he'd just needed something besides the never-ending silence that filled the flat in Mary's absence. The only noise now would come if the baby monitor, also on the table next to him, crackled to life and signaled that Rosie needed him. Needed her mother.

But, he remembered suddenly, that wouldn't happen. Because Rosie wasn't there. Rosie was with Molly tonight, probably keeping the poor girl up into the early hours of the morning.

But he couldn't help it. He couldn't stand seeing his daughter there, holding her in his arms as she cried and cried and he didn't know what to do because he couldn't be a single father, he couldn't take care of a child by himself. Mary would be the one to silence her wailing, the one to stand over the crib for nearly an hour just to make sure Rosie was asleep in the right position. While he simply used it as an excuse to pick up his phone and text E.

John thought about this, considered picking up his phone and calling to apologize or check in or just say hi to Molly, but when he reached over and picked up his cell phone he saw that it was much too late. Too early, even. He placed the phone back on the table as a new song started on the radio.

 _Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes  
But it's the only thing that I know  
When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes  
It is the only thing that makes us feel alive_

John's heart clenched at the words, and his hand reached out, as if to turn off the music; but instead it turned the dial up slightly, until he could hear the guitar playing softly through the speaker.

 _We keep this love in a photograph  
We made these memories for ourselves  
Where our eyes are never closing  
Hearts are never broken  
And time's forever frozen still_

The photo filled John's head suddenly, the one he'd kept to himself, locked away on his computer. He cast a glance at the laptop on the floor near his feet, reluctantly picking it up and waking it from hibernation.

 _So you can keep me  
Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans  
Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet  
You won't ever be alone, wait for me to come home_

His mouse hovered over the folder icon, but his finger refused to open it. He sighed and opened a browser window instead.

 _Loving can heal, loving can mend your soul  
And it's the only thing that I know, know_

John snorted. Sure, love could heal. But it could also rip your heart out and throw it off the roof of Bart's.

 _I swear it will get easier,  
Remember that with every piece of you  
Hm, and it's the only thing we take with us when we die_

He glanced up from the screen and she was there. Walking into the room, wearing the last outfit he'd seen her in. Tossing her bag onto the couch, where it had been since she'd left it there the day she died. Smiling at him and plopping onto the couch next to him.

 _Hm, we keep this love in this photograph  
We made these memories for ourselves  
Where our eyes are never closing  
Hearts were never broken  
And time's forever frozen still_

That was exactly what it felt like. Time, frozen in a memory of her. Mary raised her eyebrows.

"Music? You really do miss me."

"What do you mean?" John blurted out before his mind could remind him that this wasn't real. None of it was real. "I never listen to music."

She snorted. "Exactly." Mary glanced over at the laptop, open to John's blog, his homepage. "Updating the blog again? And here I thought you were considering a therapist."

"I'm not updating it. I haven't updated it since the wedding. For your information, I was _about_ to search for a therapist before you showed up."

 _So you can keep me  
Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans  
Holding me closer 'til our eyes meet  
You won't ever be alone_

Mary followed John's gaze to the radio. "You can't do this, you know. To me, to you, to Sherlock. You can't keep me in your head like this. You don't need me to keep you from being alone."

"Any recommendations, then?" John replied in a clipped voice, refusing to acknowledge her. "For therapists, since you seem so keen on getting me a new one."

Mary chuckled. "You do realize this is _you_ speaking to yourself, don't you? You know exactly where you're going to look for a therapist."

John scowled and looked back to the computer, searching for therapists within biking distance of his work and finding four. He'd only thought of getting a new therapist yesterday, but hadn't had the inclination to actually look for one until now.

 _And if you hurt me  
That's okay baby, only words bleed  
Inside these pages you just hold me  
And I won't ever let you go_

John selected the one female therapist from the list and went about setting up an appointment. He saw that the therapist only did bookings over the telephone, meaning he'd have to wait until later in the morning to do anything. He sighed and bookmarked the tab for later, glancing over at Mary, who was still with him in the room.

 _Wait for me to come home_

Her eyes flicked to the radio, still playing the song.

 _Wait for me to come home_

"Do you really think it's Sherlock's fault that I died, John?"

 _Wait for me to come home_

"What are you doing here, John? Look at you. All alone. I can't keep you company forever." Exhaling heavily through his nose, John looked up at Mary, who was starting to become tearful.

"Stop it. Just-" his throat constricted and he choked on the words. "Stop…" he whispered.

 _Wait for me to come home_

"No, no, no. Mary…" He reached for her, but she shook her head as the song reached the chorus again in a crescendo. "Not real, John."

 _You can fit me  
Inside the necklace you got when you were sixteen_

"Why are you doing this?" John's voice cracked.

 _Next to your heartbeat where I should be  
Keep it deep within your soul_

Mary shook her head sadly. "I'm not doing this. You are."

 _And if you hurt me  
Well, that's okay baby, only words bleed_

"I want you, Mary. I know you're dead but I just-" he pressed his lips together. "You can't be dead. I know you are. But you can't do this to me."

 _Inside these pages you just hold me  
And I won't ever let you go_

"Remember me, John." Mary smiled sorrowfully. "But not like this."

 _When I'm away, I will remember how you kissed me  
Under the lamppost back on Sixth street_

John closed his eyes as Mary leaned in towards him, imagining he felt the ghost of a kiss against his lips.

 _Hearing you whisper through the phone_

He opened his eyes and she was gone.

 _"Wait for me to come home."_

John shut off the radio and closed his laptop, putting his head into his hands and letting the tears fall freely.

Because Mary was _never_ coming home.

 **Well, there you have it. Honestly I'm not sure how well I did on this, so please let me know what you thought. Was it good, bad, terribly OOC, boring? Feedback is always appreciated!**

 **Thanks again to Ariana DeVere AKA Callie Sullivan from LiveJournal for her transcript of the episode The Lying Detective, and I will see you guys next time! I actually DO plan to post another chapter of this sometime, but I don't know when yet.**

 _ **~Divergent. Lunar. Shadowhunter.**_


End file.
